


And So It Came To Pass...

by Kat_Wine (Any_Winter)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Kinda Humor, Kinda fluff, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, kinda angst, kinda smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2158752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Any_Winter/pseuds/Kat_Wine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wants Sam, but wouldn't act on it, 'cause it's wrong.<br/>After a couple of incidents, Sam realises he wants Dean, but getting there requires some strategising, a generous amount of cunning and a whole lotta patience on Sam's part.</p><p>Featuring three hard walls (two brick, one probably plywood), several borrowed ideas for cases (you'll recognise those, maybe) and fewer towels than there should have been (or more.. depending on who you ask).</p>
            </blockquote>





	And So It Came To Pass...

**Author's Note:**

> "Any chapped-ass monkey with a keyboard can poop out a beginning, but endings are impossible." - Chuck Shurley, 5x22
> 
> Turns out, I don't agree. 
> 
> However, this is the first - and as of yet, only - story I've ever finished. This is also my first attempt at writing Wincest. Or anything smutty. Or SPN fanfiction, for that matter. 
> 
> If you read this thing and decide that I need a beta, please feel free to volunteer. :D

Sam woke up to the sound of Dean bustling around in the bathroom, the tap running, the muffled splashing of water. He sat up, leaning against the headboard of his bed and smiled contently to himself. It had been quite a long way to go up to this very moment. Memories from the past few months worked their way through Sam's mind.

They'd been working a case in up-state New York and the missing attorney's secretary had gone out of her way to flirt with him. Basically, she'd been stripping him with her eyes, until Dean had returned from looking through her boss' office right when she was writing down her number on a piece of paper. When they left the building (rather abruptly), Dean had been mightily pissed at him for some reason, but however much Sam pestered him, he just wouldn't talk.

After that afternoon, Dean hadn't been able to keep up his silent treatment, but his behaviour had been just slightly off. Nothing anyone but Sam would ever have noticed. And even Sam couldn't do more than ask now and then what was wrong. If his brother had something on his mind he wanted to share, he would do so. If he didn't.. well, there wasn't much Sam could do but wait.

Anyway, there were a few tricks to get even Dean Winchester, the reigning King Of Stubbornville, to talk. Oh, and this wasn't on any of the mental brainstorming charts Sam might ever have come up with. They'd had a couple of beers in a bar in the town they had stopped in for the night. When Sam had finished his fourth (or fifth? Sixth?) beer he had gotten up to go to the bar.

“Dean?”

“Hm? What?” His brother had jumped slightly, having been staring out of the window for the last minutes.

“Anything I can get you?” Sam asked.

“Nah, man, I'm fine,” Dean replied, apparently still not quite back in the present and hardly looking at Sam.

“I'm gonna get myself another beer, and then we're gonna talk about what's been up with you recently.”

With that, Sam was off, shoving past people through the crowded place. As much as Dean had avoided his eyes before, Sam could now sure as hell feel his brother's glare between his shoulder blades. When he returned from his beer haul, he flopped down in their booth opposite Dean, looking at him expectantly.

“Okay, Dean. Shoot.”

“Dude, how many times do I have to tell you? I'm fine,” Dean snarled.

“Something's been bothering you the past weeks. I know. I know _you_. So stop treating me like an idiot.” Sam's eyebrows knit together, watching his brother's troubled expression.

“I can't, Sammy.”

“What?” Dean's shoulders slumped, the despair etched into his face only just concealed.

“I said I can't. I can't talk about this. I can't even _think_ about this. Just.. let it go. Please.” Dean downed the rest of his beer, seeming like he wanted to wash down the thoughts of what was troubling him with it.

“You know I can't let this go, right? You're my brother,” Sam said, his last sentence a promise that said more than the mere words let on.

Dean closed his eyes, his jaw clenching slightly, his hand gripping his empty bottle a bit tighter, making his knuckles stand out.

“Yeah, I'm aware, believe me,” he mumbled. They sat in silence for a while. Sam watching his brother; Dean peeling the label off his bottle. When Dean looked up and met Sam's gaze, he winced and lowered his eyes again.

“I'm going back to the motel.” He got up, his unsteadiness barely noticeable.

“Yeah, I'm coming.” Sam slid towards the edge of his seat.

“Sam-”

“I'm coming with.”

They left the bar, crossing the deserted parking lot towards their motel. The air was still pleasantly warm from a sunny day and insects were swarming around the few street lights that threw yellow circles onto the tarmac.

Dean strode ahead, seemingly trying to put some distance between himself and his brother. Just as he rounded the corner of a grocery store at the end of the lot, Sam spoke up again.

“Dammit, Dean, if I've done anything to piss you o-” His last word was cut off by his brother, who had wheeled around and pushed him against the wall. Sam prepared for a punch, another shove, some brief outburst of violence from his brother, ready to take it for now, if that meant that Dean was finally going to open up. But no punch came. Instead, Dean just held him pushed against the wall, and not just with the arm pressed to his throat, but with his whole body, slightly angled, so his hip pushed against Sam's groin.

“You didn't and I can't, Sam. This is not something you want to know." Dean's voice was basically a growl, deep and gravelly, like a wild animal's, and his breathing was much heavier than the current action accounted for.

 Sam looked his brother in the eyes, trying to read from them what was troubling him. Dean's pupils were blown wide with.. anger? Sam wasn't quite sure. Something was off. And he didn't get to wonder any more about it, as the next second his knees buckled with the sudden loss of Dean's body pressing him against the wall and he almost slid to the ground.

When Sam looked up, his brother was standing a few feet away, back turned towards him, head lowered, shoulders heaving. Dean's fists were clenching, then unclenching, as if he was forcing himself to calm down.

“Dean, what the hell?!” Sam felt weirdly hot. His scalp burned and prickled, his stomach tied in a tight knot, his heart racing in his chest. He reached out his hand to touch Dean's shoulder. To make him face him.

This time the impact slammed the back of Sam's head against the brick wall. But what knocked the air out of his lungs wasn't the house hitting him in the back. It was his brother's mouth crushed against his. Dean shoved up against him. Left arm pressing down on his throat again, restraining him; right hand grasping his ass, pulling him towards Dean.

Also the first thing he felt wasn't shock or anger, even disgust. Sam felt some curious kind of relief wash over him. So this was what Dean had been so riled up about, he thought, feeling calm, almost detached. This might be fucked up, wrong, but with everything that was going on in their lives, this at least wasn't completely out of their control. Hell, it wasn't like Dean had never popped into his mind whenever he had enjoyed some private Sam-time.

All this sped through Sam's mind while his brother kissed him. And eventually, detached surprise hit his brain when he realised that he wasn't struggling. Not kissing back, but also not shoving at Dean to get him off of him. Huh.

“Now you know what's wrong with me,” Dean whispered against his lips, completely still now, his eyes closed to avoid Sam's gaze. Slowly, Dean turned and walked away, his fists still balled up at his sides, struggling for control, the only parts of him that betrayed his seeming calm as he crossed the parking lot back towards the bar.

Sam still stood pressed against the brick wall, gasping for air, lips slightly parted, watching Dean's back. Quite literally this time. His brain just didn't seem to process. His body didn't seem to work either. He still hadn't moved an inch when the bar's front door swung closed behind his brother. He felt feverish and somehow too big for his own skin, like his 6'4” body wasn't enough to contain the tornado of thoughts and feelings, the confusion and the sheer scope of what had just happened. All the blood that seemed to be rushing through his veins, throbbing in his head and fingertips and lips and.... Sam shook his head, trying to clear it, finally moving and took a sudden step forward, after his brother, then stopped. Hesitating. Turned around to go back to the motel. He couldn't face Dean right now, especially not in a crowded bar. Or rather, he was sure Dean wouldn't want to face him.

When Dean entered their motel room a couple of hours later, Sam had fallen asleep in one of the chairs at the table under the window, head resting on his folded arms. The laptop shone its cold light onto his ruffled hair, the screen showing some futile attempt at doing research.

He stirred when he heard the door open, looking up at Dean who obviously tried to be quiet and not wake him but was far too drunk to manage this feat. Sam watched his brother fall back onto the bed, fully clothed. Dean closed his eyes, briefly, then they shot open again.

“God, tha's ev'n worse,” he slurred, sitting up slowly, unsteadily.

“Dean-” Sam started.

“Sammy, 'nless you can make the room stop spinning when I close m'eyes, will you please leave me 'lone? Gotta concentrate on.. not pukin'.” Dean's voice was low and strained, his eyes fixed on the stained carpet at his feet.

  
He sprang back up, or at least he tried to, his legs unable to keep up with the momentum of his torso. He stumbled towards the bathroom, his hand pressed to his mouth. His left shoulder hit the door frame hard, but eventually he seemed to have made it to the toilet, or the shower, or so Sam hoped, as he heard retching and gagging and spluttering noises through the open door.

Sam hadn't seen his brother this drunk in years. Dean's habitual drinking kept him from getting properly shit-faced unless he tried really hard.  
When the unappetising sounds ceased, Sam got up and took several hesitant steps towards the bathroom door.

“Eh... Dean? You alright?” he asked tentatively.

Dean just groaned.

“Go to bed, Sammy.”

Sam covered the last few feet towards the door and leaned against the frame.

Dean was sitting on the floor in front of the toilet, resting his forehead on the cold porcelain.

Sam smirked, “You wish.”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, he wished he hadn't said it. Instead of any of his typical choice of reactions in a situation like this (groaning some more, chuckling, swearing), Dean turned his head to look at him, the right corner of his mouth curling up in a mirthless smirk, his eyebrows lifted.

“Really, Sam? Wow,” his voice was still low, but this time it was layered with sarcasm, self-deprecation and something accusatory.

“Sorry,” Sam murmured awkwardly, “you want me to leave you alone? Do you need anything or...?”

“Jus' leave me here t'die. This's still slightly better th'n the hellhounds,” Dean mumbled, his right temple still leaning against the toilet seat.

“I'll be next door, if you need anything,” Sam said, backing away from the bathroom door. He went back to his chair, closed the lid of the laptop and rubbed his hands over his face. Weirdly, what worried him most about this whole thing was that Dean might still remember it the next morning, despite the gallon of bourbon he must have tried to drown himself in. Apart from the sheer awkwardness that horrified Sam before it had even happened, the self-hatred he could see in Dean's eyes every time he thought he had failed his not-so-little brother, would reach an extent that made Sam's stomach clench. Yeah, that was what worried him most. Not the fact that Dean had kissed him and in a decidedly un-brotherly way (if there even was such a thing as a non-awkward brotherly kiss if said brothers were both grown men). Not the heat in Dean's eyes that he had mistaken for anger at first, which spoke of more than just un-brotherly snogging.

After the first shock had ebbed away and Sam had had some time to calm down, he still didn't really know how he felt about the kiss, but he was sure it was neither panic nor disgust. Confusion, mostly. Anyway, he just hoped that Dean had been successful in his quest to drown the memory in booze, so they could somehow go on without awkwardness.

But then... if this really was what had been pestering Dean the past weeks and not just some alcohol-fuelled attempt at shutting Sam up, it wouldn't go away. They would have to talk about it eventually, even if Dean didn't remember this night's event.

After about half an hour of staring blankly into space, Sam realised that he hadn't heard anything from the bathroom in a while. He got up to check on Dean, who was curled up on the tiles, mouth hanging open, snoring lightly. Sam's eyes softened with affection and amusement. He stooped down to pick up his brother. 

“Come on, man, let's get you to bed.” Sam shoved his arms under Dean's shoulders and knees and lifted. He was a pretty strong guy and quite a bit taller than his brother, but muscle is heavy, so this wasn't an easy task.

“You wish,” Dean murmured against his shoulder, his voice slurred with sleepiness and booze. _No, you wish... apparently_ , Sam thought, but he didn't say it. He dumped Dean on his bed. When Dean didn't show any ambition to move, get under the covers, take off his boots or undress, Sam sighed.

“Seriously, dude? This might be the most awkward time for me to have to tuck you into bed. Please don't make me do this.” Dean didn't respond. Or do anything for that matter. Well, at least his brother was so out of it he hopefully wouldn't remember. Sam took off Dean's boots and put them down at the end of the bed. He finally managed to unbuckle Dean's belt and open the button fly of his jeans.

“Come on, man. Little help here?” Sam poked Dean's hip, so he would lift his ass to get him out of his pants. But this wasn't the most difficult part. Sam would just leave Dean's shirt where it was, if he didn't know that his brother would sweat like a pig if he slept in more than the absolute necessary in his current state. So, being the awesome brother he was, his next task was to get Dean to sit up to take off the umpteen layers of clothes he tended to wear. When he grasped Dean's shoulders to heave him into a sitting position, Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, nuzzling his neck. Sam froze for a moment, his whole body tingling, his scalp doing this prickling thing again.

“Dean, could you please -“ He tried to shove his brother away from his neck where Dean appeared to be... what? Smelling him? His mouth pressed to the sensitive skin behind Sam's ear, he was taking deep, deliberate breaths.

“'Smell real good, Sammy,” Dean murmured.

“Dude, I'm not a flower,” Sam said, shoving harder to get Dean into a position in which he could get rid of his shirts.

“Not a flow'r. You're Sam,” Dean said, finally leaning back a tiny bit, not exactly releasing Sam from his vice-like embrace, and looked at him, frowning slightly. From really goddamn close.

“'Smell like Sammy. Tha's good,” he mused. He seemed to be slightly more awake as he actually lifted his arms so Sam could pull his shirts over his head all at once.

“Yeah, well, thank you, I guess,” Sam said, awkwardly. What was he supposed to say? This whole thing was so frigging weird. Even more so when he noticed that Dean... well, he seemed to really... like what Sam smelled like, judging by the bulge in his boxer briefs.

Gulping, Sam decided to ignore this and simply flipped the edges of the blankets over Dean where he was lying on top of them. He would manage getting under them himself later when he woke up tangled in sheets. Dean had already gone back to snoring. Sam straightened up and looked at his brother who looked like a giant taquito, wrapped in fabric, with one arm underneath his head.

“What the hell, Dean?” Sam muttered, still slightly out of breath from the struggle. And the nuzzling. Whatever was going on here, his body obviously had a rather different opinion about it than his brain had. He turned away, went into the bathroom and had a really cold shower.

 

He returned from the bathroom ten minutes later, a towel wrapped around his hips, his hair uncombed and dripping frigid water onto his naked shoulders.  
Dean had turned to lie on his side, facing Sam's bed, one arm hanging over the edge of the mattress. Sam should be heading to bed soon, too, if he was planning on getting some shut-eye. He dug into his duffel, trying to find some clean underwear and his pyjama trousers. They really had to find a laundry shop real soon, he thought as he gave up on the underwear and took just his pyjama bottoms back to the bathroom to change. Normally, he'd have changed in the bedroom, with Dean fast asleep and all, but that seemed just... not like a very good idea tonight.

When he re-emerged from the yellowish light of the bathroom into the moonlit semi-darkness of the main room, his gaze fell upon Dean's naked torso. The predicted booze-induced heatwave had hit him and Dean had shoved the blankets down towards the foot of the bed, lying on his back again, his skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. More out of reflex than of real concern that Dean might get cold, Sam picked up the blanket that had half slipped to the floor and pulled it over Dean's legs so that it covered his hips. He turned away to finally get to his bed and at least a couple of hours sleep when a hand gripped his wrist.

“Sam.” Dean's eyes were wide and he looked tense and almost scared.

“It's okay, Dean. Go back to sleep, okay?” Sam said, standing very still and not doing anything about the fingers clutching his arm.

“No, 's not, Sammy. Not okay. 'm so sorry,” Dean whispered, “for all this.”

“There's nothing to be... just sleep, Dean. You'll feel better tomorrow.” Sam didn't really know why he said this. They would have to talk about this at some point but right now he just wanted to wipe the troubled lines from his brother's face. He sat down on the edge of Dean's bed, as his back started cramping from the hunched position and Dean didn't seem like he was planning to let go of Sam's wrist any time soon unless Sam broke his fingers.

“'Won't. 'haven't been good in 'long time an' t'morrow won't be any diff'rent. But's okay, Sammy. Can do this... do this for you.” Dean's words were still slurred, his voice raspy, but not as bad as it had been earlier. His eyes were still open, but now he was staring up at the dark ceiling, his jaw set and his mouth in a determined line, as if he was bracing himself for the jump off a cliff that would save his brother's life. (Again.) Sam's eyes were fixed on Dean's face and he didn't dare move or breathe or say anything, afraid his brother might break apart or snap or disappear if he did. So just sat there.

 

In a situation like this one, if you just sit for a while, unmoving, unspeaking and no sounds or anything to divert your attention, you somehow become hyperaware of very small things, like the places in which your body touches the chair and how that feels. The tiny sounds that you wouldn't normally notice. A whisper of a breeze that might find it's way in through some gap.

Dean had only been silent for a few heartbeats, but to Sam it felt like an eternity. An eternity in which he heard his brother's ragged breathing and his own shallow inhales as he tried to be as quiet as possible. In which he felt the warmth of Dean's rough fingers around the tender skin of his wrist and the heat his body radiated so close to Sam's thigh. Sam didn't know what to say or if he was supposed to say anything at all.

“Go'n sleep, Sam. We're gonna have to leave early t'morrow.” Dean's hand released his wrist but Sam could still feel their lingering warmth. He sat there for a couple of seconds, still unable to move. Then he got up, slid under the blankets of his own bed and pulled them up over his chest.

“Good night, Dean,” he said into the darkness to his left, where his brother lay, still staring at the ceiling.

“G'night, Sammy.” 

 

The talk Sam thought they were gonna have didn't come around for a couple of months. The next morning Dean had had one bitch of a hangover and Sam hadn't had the heart to bring it up. Then they got caught up in a case involving a married couple of vampires who had asked them for their help in binding and/or killing the ghost of a German witch-hunter who had taken to becoming a real boy for Halloween over the last few decades and relapsed on burning women he thought to be evil witches (which was just about anyone female). This had kept them busy for a while and by the time the deed was done and the inquisitor's ghost was defanged (not the vamp couple though, they had proven to be not too bad for... you know... vamps), Dean had gone back to his usual self and Sam decided to let it rest for the time being. But he wouldn't forget. He couldn't. Not with the tiny little changes in his brother's behaviour that he probably just noticed because Dean's more-or-less confession still haunted some back corner of his brain. Like how he took his fresh clothes to the bathroom now to change into them after taking a shower where he would have sauntered back into their motel room with a towel slung around his waist to find something to wear before. Or how he avoided any touches between Sam and him that weren't absolutely necessary. Or how more often than not the last thing Sam saw before he fell asleep was Dean lying in his bed with his eyes wide open, watching him, when he thought Sam was sleeping already.

This went on for quite a while and Sam was surprised that these changes in his brother bugged him to hell. He missed the unselfconscious ease with which they used to be around each other. Goddammit, there wasn't much they didn't know about the other, what with having lived in each other's back pockets all their lives. It wasn't like Dean was still openly grumpy and tense the way he had been in the weeks before _that night_ , he still joked at inappropriate times – just not about anything that might be considered sexual – and he still teased Sam about just about everything – just not about Sam being “a friggin' girl” when he caught him smiling to himself over a kinda chick-flicky scene in a movie they watched together after a hunt.  
What surprised him even more was the wave of relief that washed over him when he saw Dean crumpling up and throwing away the small piece of paper on which the bartender in some small town they were passing through on their way back to Bobby's had scribbled her number.  
Whatever that was – and he honestly didn't know – he wasn't going to go on just accepting the undercurrent of distance between Dean and him.

Over the next few days he started his Quest For Normalcy by throwing in small, harmless touches into their everyday life. Leaning over and slapping Dean's hand away from the laptop when he was unnecessarily slow on finding some specific piece of info on the author that had been killed in Maine (yes, this actually was a Misery-thing). Kicking Dean in the shins so he could stretch out his legs in the tiny booth in a diner. Grabbing Dean's wrists to get to the keys for the Impala when he was pretty sure that his brother shouldn't even be driving the two blocks from the bar back to the motel.  
The first few times Dean froze at the contact and swore at Sam for some completely unrelated reason, but when he finally eased up a bit and stopped flinching every time Sam's elbow poked him in the ribs for a teasing remark, Sam felt like he could breathe more freely. Like things were actually getting back on the right path.

  
Up until the day he was taking a shower in yet another motel bathroom and realised after he had turned off the water that there were no towels. Not even one of those tiny hand towels. And as Dean had been out to the 7-11 around the corner to stock up on snacks and beer when Sam had gone into the shower, he had undressed in the motel room and gone to the bathroom naked so he didn't even have his shirt to dry himself off and his pants to put back on. Crap. He'd have to call for his brother to bring him one of the towels they had knicked from some other motel.

“Dean?” No answer.

“Dean!” Silence. Ooh-kay. So Dean wasn't back yet and he could get the towel from his duffel himself, but Dean wouldn't be gone for long. He'd have to hurry. Sam stepped out of the shower carefully so his wet feet wouldn't slip on the bare tiles, yanked the bathroom door open and started to race across the carpeted floor towards his bed where he had put his bag earlier. Only he found himself standing buck-naked and dripping wet in front of Dean, who was lying on the bed listening to music on his iPod. And who was staring at Sam in more shock than was necessary, his eyes wide and his lips parted. Sam could hear the guitar riffs glaring from the headphones even where he was standing across the room, so Dean wouldn't hear his explanation anyway. So he tried for casual and strode to his bed, took a large towel from his bed and slung it around his hips. He grabbed some of his clothes and looked up to grin sheepishly at Dean. His brother was still staring. In fact, he hadn't moved an inch since Sam had come out of the bathroom. Sam still tried to conjure up that apologising grin, turned and after a few steps closed the bathroom door behind him. Had he thought 'crap' before? Yeah, well.. _Crap_. And as if it wasn't enough that this would surely put him back on square one with Dean's closed-up behaviour, if his brother's face was anything to judge by when he had stood in front of him wearing nothing but a horrified expression, all this had somehow notched up his pulse to a critical level. Yeah, there'd been mostly shock on Dean's face, but also something else. Sam knew exactly what that something else was, Dean had basically told him _that night_ , and that didn't help at all to keep his body calm. Or his mind. His very quick mind with its very vivid imagination. _Fuck._

Sam splashed some cold water into his face, finally dried himself off and slowly got dressed. He'd have to leave the bathroom at some point and face his brother, and he wouldn't be able to turn back time, so... yeah. _Let's get this over with_. He took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door. Opened the door to an empty room. Sam ran a hand through his still damp hair, unsure of what to do. When he tried to call Dean, his phone rang on his nightstand. The Impala was gone, but Dean's duffel was still lying at the foot of his bed. With a sigh he sat down on his own. So he'd have to wait and see what Dean did when he came back.

When Dean finally returned about two hours later, Sam was still sitting on his bed, now with his laptop balanced on his leg.

“Good, you're dressed. Found us a case, about 4 hours from here. You ready to go?” Dean said casually.

“Eh, yeah, sure. Let me just pack up. You can fill me in on the way.” Sam didn't really know how to deal with his brother's non-reaction. He'd been prepared for lots of scenarios – Dean coming back completely wasted, Dean coming back the next day 'cause he'd picked up some girl in a bar, Dean coming back and being pissed at him and not wanting to talk to him. But this? He couldn't decide whether this had gone better than he expected or whether the big bang had just yet to come.

The bang didn't happen and Dean remained his usual, mostly cheery self. They solved a few cases, crossed the whole country more than twice and everything appeared to be back to normal. 

Except it wasn't. Not really. Because Sam couldn't forget that night and he knew that Dean hadn't forgotten and he also knew that that thing between them hadn't magically disappeared. Hang on. That thing between them? When had he started thinking of it as a 'thing between them' rather than a thing that was mostly Dean's problem? Maybe when he replayed the towel-scene-without-the-towel over and over in his head and realised that there are several kinds of shock than can show on a person's face. From terrified shock or disgusted shock over simply surprised shock to shock at witnessing something good they hadn't believed they'd get to see. The expression of shock on Dean's face hadn't been purely the latter, but it was in there, mixed with surprise and something else. It had most certainly been neither of the first two. But it was that 'something else' that kept pushing into Sam's mind. No one, apart maybe from Jess, had ever looked at him like that and he just knew he had to see it again. 

He also knew that he couldn't just say something to Dean like “So get this, man, I kinda know you liked seeing me naked, I liked you seeing me naked, so let's get naked!” and he couldn't pull some bold move because that would only cause Dean to freak out. His brother was far too concerned about doing the “right thing” or whatever to be okay with that. So he'd have to be subtle if he wanted to get somewhere with Dean. 

This is how his Quest For Normalcy got upgraded to his Quest For Dean. The touches he now threw into their daily interaction were just ever so slightly less harmless. Nothing an outsider would have considered weird or even noticed, but now he'd use his leg to shove Dean's foot aside under a cramped diner table and keep it there, resting lightly against his brother's. When Dean called him over to have a look at what he'd found online on a case, he'd place his hand on Dean's upper back instead of the back of his chair, leaning over him so close that Dean was bound to feel the warmth radiating from his body through their combined layers of clothing. All the while being completely casual about it. If Dean noticed his shift in behaviour, he tried his damnedest not to let anything on, except maybe being just as subtle about trying to keep some space between himself and Sam. 

But Sam knew he was on the right path. Every time he pulled one of those moves, he felt the tiny twitch of tension going through his brother and if he was right, that wasn't a bad thing. He just had to rile Dean up enough to make him loose his shit again, just like that night and then he'd be ready for it. 

 

What. _The Hell._ Did Sam think he was doing?! Dean had tuned himself so finely to every bit of contact, every one of his brother's movements, hell, he could kinda tell Sam's mood just by being in the same room with him. So of course he noticed what Sam was doing, he just had no fucking idea _why_ he was doing it. Did he think that he was doing Dean a favour? Was this some kind of pity act? Letting poor lovesick Dean have _something_ when he couldn't have it all? Could never have it because whatever more-than-brotherly feelings ( _was he really analysing his_ feelings _now? Seriously?_ ) he had for Sam, his brother's frozen expression when Dean had lost it and kissed him that night had told him very clearly that this was not something Sam would ever even consider. Quite apart from this being wrong on so many levels and just not them. They hardly even talked about any other sappy, chick-flicky issues. It's not like Dean wanted to. After all, Sam was the one who liked having girly heart-to-hearts about stuff that simply happened in their line of work. So Dean was most certainly not going to have this talk with his brother. He just needed time to get over this. Sure, the first time he'd realised that Sam being that  over-grown hunk of muscle wasn't just a side-effect of their lifestyle, let alone occasionally quite useful in a fight, but it also left Dean feeling like he had gotten punched in the lungs when he tried not to watch Sam's morning workout routine _(which he had taken to doing in his underwear lately, the fucker)_ , had been years ago. So the way Sam kept invading his personal space didn't help at all on _Dean's_ Quest For Normalcy. But he was Dean Winchester. He had lasted 30 years before he had broken under constant torture in Hell and neither of them would live long enough to have him loose control again facing his wrong kind of feelings for his brother. 

 

Sam was well aware that Dean wasn't really doing research. He could feel his brother's gaze on his back when he finished his last set of push-ups. _5...4...3...2...1..._ he counted, then got up and grabbed the towel he had thrown over the back of the chair opposite Dean before he had started his daily barely clothed workout. Wiping the sweat from his face and neck, he sauntered over to his brother.

“You find anything?”

“Nope. Though it doesn't surprise me that no one's ever heard of a monster that you only remember when you look straight at it. The only thing I could find was some overseas sci-fi crap. I have no idea what we're dealing with, man,” Dean said, his tone not conveying anything out of the ordinary (apart from their job being very much that), but his flushed cheeks, tense shoulders and the way he kept his eyes fixed on the laptop's screen told Sam that doing his sit-ups and push-ups half naked wasn't just more comfortable in the heat of mid-August Utah but it was also helping his cause. He leant his scantily clad hip against the table, right next to Dean's hand that was gripping the edge of the laptop.

“So what now? Have you called Bobby?” he asked.

“Not yet, but I'm gonna. Why don't you... uh... get dressed and we hunt down some breakfast first? Could use some coffee,” Dean said.

“Your wish is my command,” Sam said lightly, pushing away from the table to do just that and as he bent over his bag, he could hear Dean let out a very low and very long breath. Sam smiled to himself as he zipped up his jeans, his back still turned on his brother.

 

Another couple of weeks passed and nothing worth mentioning happened. They were still caught in that weird dance where Sam kept pushing the boundaries of Dean's personal space and Dean desperately tried to neither break and take too many steps back nor break and step into Sam's apparently very small circle of personal space and push his Gigantor body up the wall to screw the living daylights out of him. Sam still secretly watched Dean watch him in the dark before he fell asleep. Dean still secretly watched Sam do whatever he did. All this while they both kept up the appearance of their business-as-usual, just-brothers, monster-hunting everyday life.

“Dean, I'm going out for a beer. You coming?”

“Sure,” Dean said, getting up from his bed where he'd been cleaning his guns.  
They found a bar just a few blocks away and Dean headed straight for the unoccupied pool table. Sam took a detour to the bar, getting beers for both of them and then went over to where his brother was aligning the balls.

“Loser buys the rounds?” Sam suggested, handing Dean a bottle.

“Dude, all our money comes from the same place,” Dean said, chalking the tip of his cue.

“Yeah, so we're not playing for money but for beer. Thought that'd give you some motivation to at least try to win,” Sam grinned.

“Oh, come on, I won't even _have_ to try and still get wasted on your cost,” Dean scoffed.

“So it's a deal?”

“Deal. You go first, Samantha,” Dean said, leaning against the wall and took a sip of his beer.  
Sam bent over the pool table and lined up his cue so the white ball would hit the triangle of multicoloured balls dead centre.  
Sam won the first round, just to get the competition going, but after that he made sure he let Dean win most of the games and brought round after round of beer and shots from the bar. His brother was in a fantastic mood by the time Sam handed him his ninth bottle of beer.

“You're making this far too easy for me, Sammy. This isn't even a challenge. Seriously, dude, if anyone watches you play and finds out we're brothers...,” Dean teased, looking around in mock embarrassment.

“Just pretend we're not,” Sam replied with a half-smile, looking his brother in the eyes for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. At that, Dean's smug grin faded a little but he caught himself fairly quickly as he went around the table to figure out the best angle for his next shot.  
Sam couldn't help but watch Dean's confident moves, the concentration on his face when he lined up the cue, the tip of his tongue just visible between his teeth when he adjusted the angle ever so slightly and the way his shirt rode up his back a few inches whenever he leant across the table. His patience was wearing thin, but he had to wait for Dean to make the first move or all his efforts would be lost. All he could do was nudge him in the right direction and right now, with the buffer of almost a dozen beers, he could probably be just a bit bolder than usual.

The alcohol was effecting both of them and their game lost its precision by the minute. When Dean took an unusually long time to aim, Sam leant over the table next to him, placing his hand very low on Dean's back and said very low: “You gonna hit that any time soon, man?” Dean's cue snapped forward, grazed the white ball at the side and it sped across the table hitting none of the other balls.  
Dean straightened up and took a step to the side.

“Having fun?” he asked, looking at Sam with a frown.

“Come on, Dean, it's just a game,” Sam said, smirking.

“Yeah, you think so? I know, what you're doing, Sam.” Dean had turned to pick up his beer and take another swig, standing with his back towards his brother.  
Sam swallowed. Had he pushed him too far?

“So? What am I doing then?”

“You're trying to distract me, so you have a chance for once,” Dean said with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes.

“Do I? Have a chance?” Sam asked, unsmiling, far more seriously in fact than bantering over a game of pool required. His heart was pounding in his chest, well aware that they weren't really talking about the game here.

“You'll have to do much better than that, bro. It's your turn,” Dean said, leaning back against the wall with his feet crossed. Sam stared at Dean for a second longer, taking in the sight of him. Then he turned away to make his shot, clearing his throat.  
He made his move ( _on the pool table, not on his brother. Not yet_.), this time actually trying to make it a good one. Indeed, he pocketed the last two of the striped balls. Just the black 8-ball left for him to win. When he straightened again, he felt the floor swaying a bit. Like a ship on the calm sea. He tried to hide a smirk at his inner poet. Anyway, he'd have to slow down a bit if he wanted this night to lead to anything productive.  
Dean was standing closer to the pool table now and Sam was pretty sure that he hadn't only been interested in Sam's shot. From where he stood, beer in hand, he would have had a great view of Sam bending over the table.

“You like it?” Sam asked innocently.

“What?” Dean looked flustered, like he'd been caught with his fingers on someone else's pie. Again.

“The beer, Dean. I know it's not what you usually drink but it's all they got,” Sam explained. It was a calculating move. Sam really was a sneaky little, or not so little, shit. He knew – and this was basic psych 101 – that Dean would take another swig before answering. His gaze was caught on Dean's mouth touching the lip of the bottle and Dean seemed completely unaware of how sensuous that looked and what effect it had on his brother. He tipped his head back a few inches, let the cold beverage flow into his mouth, swallowed. Sam could see his throat working and at that moment he was pretty sure there wasn't a porn clip in the world that was hotter than his brother drinking beer.  
Dean pondered the label on the bottle for a moment, then lifted his gaze to Sam to answer and Sam took the opportunity to (half-)deliberately lick his lips. Very slowly. Dean had already opened his mouth to speak when his eyes fixed on Sam's lips and the tip on his tongue and had apparently forgotten to either say what he thought of the micro-brew or close his mouth again.  
The moment couldn't have lasted longer than a few heartbeats, even though it felt like an eternity.

“'s not bad,” Dean rasped. Pause. Then, “Bathroom.”

He shoved past Sam, keeping as much distance between them as was possible in the narrow space between the pool table and the wall. His hip still brushed against Sam and he must have felt the hardness caused by his porn-y snog with the beer bottle that wasn't Sam's phone in his pocket. 

Dean's stride was unsteady as he fled (and there was no other way to describe it) towards the men's room. Sam leant against the wall, steadying himself and closed his eyes for a second. For a moment he considered following Dean but decided against it. What he was hoping for for tonight, he didn't want to take place in a public bathroom. Plus, he was sure that Dean still wouldn't go down ( _on him... God, that mouth._ ) without a fight and Sam most certainly didn't want to do this in public. And anyway – the more time passed before they were back in the motel, the more time he had to work on what was left of his brother's self-restraint. It took a while, but when Dean finally returned, his face glistened in some places, like he had splashed it with cold water and only dried it off crudely, like he did when he was distressed.  
“'M going back,” Dean said, downing the rest of his beer.  
“I'm coming,” Sam replied, shoving away from the wall. Now Dean looked at him, a silent plea in his eyes.  
“Sammy - “  
“Dean, I'm coming with.” Sam had a weird feeling of déjà vu, but not quite, like they'd had this conversation before, but he couldn't remember the exact situation. Hell, they spent so much time together and in the end there are only so many ways of stringing words together. Dean's shoulders slumped and he set off towards the door without another word. Weaving through the crowd, it hit Sam. _That night._ They'd had a conversation like this _that night_. Right before Dean had shoved him up a wall and kissed him and Sam's life had been taken even more off course than it was anyway. This time, there wasn't a parking lot they had to cross. This time, Dean wasn't prowling ahead of him with angrily deliberate, slow steps. There were the same traces of drunken unsteadiness about him that a stranger wouldn't notice, but Sam did. The same way he could see by his brother's posture that he wasn't as relaxed as you might have thought by the lack of tension in his shoulders, but even from behind, he looked kind of... defeated.

“Dean - “ Sam said, ten feet behind his brother. This time, his tone wasn't prying, pushing. It was tentative, soft. Sam was certain that in the end he was doing the right thing – well, just about anyone else would argue on the not-wrongness of trying to get one's brother into bed, but somehow their lives took place so far outside of society that normal rules did not really apply to them, did they? - however, this was the right thing to do for Dean. And for himself. Over the past couple of months, ever since that night and most definitely since the (no-)towel incident, he'd hardly been able to sleep with Dean three feet away from him, hardly been able to breathe with Dean within arm's reach (and when were they ever further apart than that?). Sam felt like he'd been holding his breath for months and was now looking up and seeing a shimmer of light – air – above the surface of the water. And no way was he going to stop swimming now, even though he could see the desperate clutch on the last bit of resolve on Dean's face.  
Dean slowed but didn't turn around. Sam covered the last few steps between them. The dark street was deserted and they were now standing right between two street lamps, not directly illuminated by their yellowish light, but not in shadow either. He lifted his hand and touched Dean's arm, giving him the smallest impulse to get him to turn around. Slowly, Dean followed his request.

“Dean, stop,” Sam said softly.

“What do you want, Sammy?” Dean's voice was low and he sounded younger, like when they were kids and Sam kept nagging him about stuff out of sheer boredom. At the same time, he sounded nothing like that, maybe because of the not-at-all-innocent undertone in his voice, the hint of an almost dangerous growl, a feral undercurrent like that of a cornered wild animal.  
A small part of Sam wondered, how Dean could put so much into one single question and then thought that maybe he didn't and it was simply that Sam knew his brother so thoroughly that he caught up on his thoughts and feelings in a way that no one else would ever be able to sense.  
A few seconds had passed since Dean's question and Sam wasn't sure what to reply. How bold could he be, how straightforward did he have to be right at that moment?

“Nothing has changed for you since that night weeks ago, has it?” he almost whispered. He was pretty sure it hadn't but he had to know. Had to know that Dean still wanted this even if he wouldn't say so voluntarily. Dean shook his head ever so slightly, his eyes carefully trained on the pavement.

“Well...” Sam swallowed. “It has for me. You ask what I want, Dean? You. I want you. I want you to look at me and not see your kid brother,“ Dean flinched at that and leant against the wall next to Sam staring at a swarm of insects flying around the street lamp to their left.

“I want you not to hide from me any more. I want to give you all I got. I always have, at least all I could, but there's more and I. Want. That.” Sam had kept his voice as calm as possible, even though his heart was pounding in his chest.

“Dad would kill us,” Dean said with a humourless chuckle.

“Yeah, well, Dad's not here, Dean. We are all we have. So screw whatever anyone else might think if they knew, we have enough other crap to worry about as it is. So why shouldn't we take something for ourselves for once?”

Dean still had neither moved nor looked at Sam.

“When can we ever have what we want, Sam? Even if – IF – we... did this... whatever _this_ is... You said it. We're all we have. So who's to tell if _this_ isn't what makes Fate or whoever decide that we still have too much? I can't... not again...” he broke off.  
Sam took a step towards Dean, unsure of what to say.

“Dean, I can't say you're wrong, 'cause I just don't know. Nobody does. All I can tell you is that we have gone through several giant heaps of crap, hell, we've both died more than once and we've always found our way back and we're still together. And I can promise you that if I possibly can, if there's any way, I'll always have your back. I'll always come back. For you,” he took another step and was now standing right in front of Dean who was still leaning against the wall. All Sam would have to do was move another few inches and they would basically lean against each other. All Dean would have to do was straighten up and turn his head. But neither of them moved. Or said anything. Or even breathed. Seconds passed. Maybe hours. Maybe no time at all. Anyway, Sam's resolve to give Dean time to make a move slowly crumbled to bits as he could sense so many things at the same time, but right at the top of that list was that Dean wanted this. Wanted to reach out for him, touch him, but he seemed so torn, like he thought if he so much as twitched, Sam would turn around and walk away, laughing his ass off. They would probably stand like this forever, so close but not close enough by far. Sam had long decided to do it, to close the distance, but his arms felt like they weighed a ton.

“Dean, look at me,” he said and his brother finally turned his head up to face him, “do you want this? All else aside, do you want this?”

“Dammit, Sam! Yes, okay!? I _do_ want this, fuck, I want _you_ , alright!? Have for so long. So what now? We go for a romantic dinner, see a movie and live happily ever after?!” Dean almost yelled at him, having straightened from the wall, so they were actually standing extremely close, his arms held out in a come-at-me gesture.

“Dude, nothing would change – well, at least not like that! I'm not suddenly gonna call you honey-bunny, I don't want romantic walks on the beach, holding hands or any of that couple-y crap. I know what I get. You're my brother, I've known you my whole fucking life. So what I want isn't some weird-ass Brokeback Mountain version. What I want is your totally annoying, stubborn, cranky ass. Uh.. not literally.. you know what I mean.” _Silence_. “No, you know what? Scratch that, that's _literally_ what I -” And with that, Sam found himself turned around and pressed against the wall – again – and when Dean kissed him this time (and not a iota gentler than he had _that night_ ), he kissed back, his lips parting at the nudging of Dean's tongue and when he felt a twitch of hesitation in his brother's body he grabbed him by the hips and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. His head was spinning and he felt like he hadn't taken a breath in weeks but at the same time it was like he didn't have to, because this was far better than breathing. Dean had had his hands against the wall on either side of Sam's head but when he was pulled that tightly against Sam and felt what the kiss alone did to his brother, he groaned, slipped his hands into Sam's hair and shoved him harder against the wall.  
Sam slid his hands up Dean's body, grabbed the front of his flannel shirt and pushed him back an inch.

“Dude. Hang on a moment,” he panted, smiling, “first, I need to breathe for a sec if you don't want me to pass out or come in my pants or both. Second, let's move this back to the motel.” He wriggled out from between his heavily breathing, half-smirking brother and the wall, slid his hand along the hard bulge in Dean's jeans and walked away towards their motel, grinning to himself at the long, stuttering exhale behind him.

 

Dean slapped his hand against the wall, leant his forehead against the rough surface for a moment and tried to get a grip on himself. Was this some extremely weird, extremely hot dream? Where Sam had told him he _wanted_ him, where they had kissed (and if that kiss had him rock-hard already, Sam's hand on his crotch had him take deep, steadying breaths) and now he would be following his kid brother back to their room to... do the do? If he opened his eyes now and found himself in a bed (alone) or beaten to crap by some monster, he'd put his gun to his head and shoot himself. No kidding. 3... 2... 1... He opened his eyes. Brick wall. Okay. Head turn right. Sam was standing thirty yards away, grinning.

“Dude, you coming?”

“Almost, yeah,” Dean muttered to himself, tried to adjust his cock so he could walk the two blocks to the motel with at least a tiny bit of dignity and went after Sam. He'd think about this later. And then freak out.

 

Dean caught up with his brother right when Sam opened their door. When he stepped over the threshold, several things happened almost at the same time. Sam was more or less shoved inside, swirled around by his arm, he heard the door slam shut, landed with his back against a wall once again, had his brother's tongue thrust into his mouth and a hand firmly rubbing his ridiculously hard cock through the thick fabric of his pants. Good, so Dean was a pushy bastard in life and in.. well, not-yet-bed. Sam himself couldn't decide on what to do first – unzip his own jeans so Dean had better access to his dick or rip the shirts off Dean so he could finally touch, lick, kiss all of that freckled skin. He couldn't do it all at the same time and he couldn't wait to do it in sequence, so he pulled away reluctantly.

“Dude... clothes....”

Dean chuckled. “Patience, Sammy. I've been waiting for this for years. I'm gonna take my time with you,” he whispered, nuzzling the soft, tender skin below Sam's ear. Sam moaned low, his mouth tingling with the after-feel of Dean's lips on his and the scratch of stubble which, funnily, he didn't mind at all, just wondered idly what stubble-burn would feel like farther down south. He groaned when Dean nicked his neck where it joined his shoulders.

“Dean, man, would you please move it along? I need...,” he trailed off at his brother's hands now pushing down the front of his jeans.

“Was that a ' _please_ ' I heard there?” Dean practically purred. Sam could hear the teasing smirk in his voice, even though he couldn't see it, as he had let his head fall back, his eyes close and his mouth fall open at the feeling of Dean's warm, rough hands on his cock.

“God dammit, Dean,” he moaned.

“What do you want, Sam?”

“Clothes off. Bed. Now. Please.”

“As if I could say no, being asked so very nicely,” Dean breathed into his ear, while he finally unzipped Sam's pants and shoved them down together with his boxer briefs, then stepped back and stripped himself. Sam felt hypnotised by the sight of his brother, naked, beautiful and so hard it looked painful. When his gaze travelled back up to Dean's face and he saw the quirked up eyebrow, he realised that he was still wearing his shirts and that his pants were pooled around his boots. As if on an unheard signal he jumped to action, pulled his shirts over his head and toed off his boots so he could step out of his pants, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on his brother. When he was finally naked, he took a moment to gather himself. He wanted to do this right.  
He stepped forward, pushing Dean towards one of the beds until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the mattress and then shoved him down so Dean sat on the bed, looking up at him. Dean's green eyes looked darker than usual, his pupils blown wide, his lips pink, shiny and slightly parted. _God, he's beautiful_ , Sam thought when he sank to his knees between Dean's legs. He sat back on his heels, taking in all of Dean and licked his lips. He's never done this before, but hey – he'd been on the receiving end often enough to know what felt good. So he went to work, kissing and biting his way along Dean's thighs and then trailed the tip of his tongue up from his balls all along his cock up to the tip. Dean sank back with a moan, propping himself up on his elbows, watching Sam suck his cock into his mouth as far as he could.

“Holy hell, Sammy,” Dean groaned and let his head fall back. It felt weird, too big in his mouth and he had to concentrate on not going too deep so he'd choke but after a moment he got used to the sensation of ( _Oh God._ ) his brother's cock in his mouth and set up a rhythm, twirling his tongue, hollowing his cheeks, sucking, licking and revelling in the moans and gasps and curses that fell from Dean's lips.

“Woah... God, Sam... yeah, like that.. fuck!” Dean's hips bucked up and his cock hit the back of Sam's throat. Sam pulled off, coughing.

“Dean, please try not to kill me, wouldya?” he laughed when he could breathe.

“Jesus, I'm sorry! You alright?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine, relax.”

“Seriously though... that mouth...” Dean purred and pulled Sam onto the bed on top of him, sinking his tongue into Sam's mouth that now tasted like both Sam and himself. Dean slid his hand between them, wrapped his fingers around Sam's throbbing cock and stroked him firmly but maddeningly slowly. Sam closed his eyes. He'd been imagining for weeks what it would feel like when he finally got Dean here, but his mental scenarios didn't even come close to what it actually felt like. Not trusting his suddenly weak limbs to hold him above Dean any longer without crushing his brother with his weight, he let himself fall to the side, one leg propped up to give Dean better access and wrapped his own hand around his brother. Tor several minutes they just stroked each other, kissing messily. The only sounds in the room were their desperate-growing panting and moaning.  
Sam dimly remembered the Dean's appreciation when he had asked him to keep going earlier, so he was going to try something. He pulled back from his brother's lips for a moment and hissed at the wicked and totally amazing twist Dean gave the head of his cock on the upstroke.

“Jesus, Dean, please! Fuck me!” he moaned breathlessly. Dean's eyes flew open as he released Sam's cock to grip his own right at the base.

“God dammit, Sam,” he gasped, “give me a warning next time, wouldya?” Dean's eyes were squeezed shut and he had gone completely still.

“What? 'Watch out now, I'm gonna talk dirty to you'?” Sam snorted, but his tone was still breathy.

“Something like that, yeah,” Dean huffed, relaxing a little, “at least, if you don't want this to end before it has even started.”

“Oh, I'd find a way to get what I want,” Sam grinned.

“You think?” Dean's hands were on Sam again, mapping every part of his body he could reach.

“Yes... I think. And now – watch out, Dean – I need you to -” but this was all he could get out before Dean sealed his mouth with his, making a noise somewhere between a snort and a moan.  
Dean's hand had gone back to stroking Sam's cock and Sam couldn't do much more than hang on, gasp for air and try not to come right there, one hand clutching Dean's hip and the other desperately holding on to a fistful of sheets. He could feel the pleasure building, his mind gone vacant except for a litany of ' _God. Yes. Dean. Fuck. Yeah. Dean!_ '. As his climax crept so close his whole body was twitching with need and want and now he grasped Dean's hand and pulled it away from his cock, guiding it lower.

“Please, Dean, I need you inside me,” he panted.

“Jesus, Sammy, you sure?” Dean asked, trailing his fingertips down Sam's tightened balls, very slowly.

“Dammit, YES. Do you need a written invitation?” Sam's voice was desperate and impatient as hell and then his face broke into something close to awe at the sight of Dean sucking to of his own fingers deep into his mouth.  
A few minutes later, their earlier bantering and impatience had ebbed away. Dean was kneeling between Sam's legs, watching Sam's face as he slowly slid a spit-slick finger inside his brother. Watching his expression go from slightly anxious, to kind of surprised at the feeling, to fully-blown lust within moments.  
Very slowly, Dean's finger entered Sam all the way and when he bottomed out, he moved around a bit, searching for that spot that he knew had to be there.

“Ohmygod!” Sam cried out when Dean found his prostate and rubbed along it. White stars exploded behind his screwed-shut lids and even if he had the brainpower available to want to try and keep his body still, he wouldn't have been able to.

“More, Dean, please!” he gasped.

“Hang on a sec,” Dean said and eased his finger out of him.  
When Sam opened his eyes to see where Dean had gone, he found him kneeling on the floor, rummaging in his duffel bag.

“Gotcha,” he exclaimed, holding up a bottle of lube, grinning. Sam watched his brother climb back onto the bed between his propped up knees. Dean flicked open the cap of the bottle and dripped some of the liquid onto his fingers.

“You done that before?” he asked casually.

“Had fingers up there or been fucked in the ass?” Sam asked, smirking.

“Eh.. this might be relevant, so.. both?” Dean said.

“First – yes, second – no.”

“Okay, then, we're gonna go extra-slow,” Dean said, finishing the slicking-up of his fingers with a flourish like a magician at the end of a trick and pushing two of his fingers slowly back into Sam.  
Sam gasped at the slight burn that vanished as quickly as it had come and then pushed himself down on Dean's hand. He tightly gripped the headboard above him.

“No, we're not. I'm not waiting for you to take it 'extra-slow'. You're not gonna break me, Dean, so. _Come_. On.” And with that he gave the headboard another shove which brought Dean's fingers all the way in and firmly against his prostate.

“Oh, Jesus, do that again,” he moaned.

“You did that yourself, Sam,” Dean grunted but thrust his fingers back into Sam anyway. He watched his brother fall apart underneath him and for a moment just enjoyed the sight. 

“More?” he asked after a minute or two.

“God, yes, please!” Sam panted, looking at the same time completely blissed-out and so tense he might just explode any second.

“Just... give me a moment, okay? I'm really... close,” Sam said, struggling for breath.  
Dean slowly eased his fingers out of Sam and rubbed his hand along his brother's side, crawling up the bed and kissing Sam deeply and without hurry.

“We have all the time in the world, Sam. Not that I'm particularly patient, especially right now...” he chuckled, nibbling at Sam's lower lip, “You okay now?”

“Yeah, get back to work,” Sam grinned against his lips.

“Aye, aye, Sir,” Dean knelt back, gave him a mocking salute and then slowly shoved three fingers of that hand into his brother. This time he met slightly more resistance and heard a low hiss from Sam.

“Relax, Sammy,” he said soothingly and went back to slowly jacking Sam's cock with his other hand to take his mind off the burn. When those three fingers were all the way up his ass and Dean kept them there to give Sam a moment to adjust, Sam took a few deep breaths and gradually felt the pain subside.

“Okay... okay, do it,” he then said. Dean took up a slow, steady rhythm, deliberately hitting Sam's prostate on each thrust. It only took a few minutes until Sam was moaning again, bucking his hips to increase both the friction of Dean's hand on his cock and the depth of his fingers inside him.

“More, Dean,” Sam moaned.

“What? You mean -“ Dean's eyes were wide, the movements of his hand faltering. “Four?"

“Geez, Dean, no, “ Sam half snorted, half wheezed, not letting up on his efforts to get more of Dean's fingers. “Fuck me already!”

“Oh,” Dean chuckled, just as breathless as his brother below him. He felt around for the bottle of lube he had tossed aside earlier. He almost doubted it was really necessary with his cock leaking like hell at the sight and feel of Sam writhing on his fingers. Still, he slicked himself up generously, not wanting to risk hurting Sam.  
Then, finally, he aligned himself, hesitating for a second.

“Dean. If you're going to ask me if I'm sure I want this again, I'm going to kick your ass.”

“There isn't going to be any ass-kicking tonight, just good, ol' fashioned ass-fucking,” Dean grinned and pushed the head of his cock inside his brother with a slow but steady motion, not stopping until he was in as deep as he could get, all the while watching Sam's face very closely for any sign of pain. But except for a roll of eyes at his horrible pun and a brief tensing of Sam's features, all he could see was pure pleasure and once he was sure Sam was alright, he allowed himself to breathe and marvel at the feeling of his brother's incredibly tight, incredibly hot ass around his dick.

“Holy Hell, Sammy,” he breathed, “you feel so... good,” he finished weakly, his vocabulary reduced to the basics.

“Please, Dean, please!” Just move already,” Sam gasped. Dean's dick up his ass felt so close to too much and still he needed more, needed the friction, the pushing, the closeness. Above him, Dean's face was flushed, his lips pink and parted, his bright green eyes shiny and wide. He could feel his brother's body trembling, his freckled skin shining with a thin layer of sweat. Dean pulled out very slowly and Sam still felt him holding back, still being careful and he wouldn't have that. He firmly gripped Dean's ass and slammed his brother's cock back inside him, crying out when the tip rubbed firmly along his prostate.  
And this was it as far as Dean's self-restraint was concerned. His upstairs-brain gave up and his downstairs-brain took over full control. Soon they were completely lost in pleasure, in each other and nothing else mattered any more.

“God, Sam, so close,” Dean moaned, snaked a hand between them and grasped Sam's cock, stroking him in time with the snapping of his hips. At this moment, it didn't take much to push Sam over the edge and so after just a couple more thrusts he came hard, his back arching up, his voice hoarse as he almost whimpered at the intensity of the orgasm ripping through his whole body all at once, leaving his limbs tingling when it finally ebbed away. Dean had stroked him all through his climax but now he had both hands free to keep himself steady, he sped up his pace. What eventually tipped him over, though, were the aftershocks he felt shivering and twitching through Sam's body, massaging him until he couldn't hold his own orgasm back a second longer. If asked later, Dean was sure he had passed out for a couple seconds, his brain just logged off so completely, there was no conscious thought left. Just sensation. And after all these years of repressed emotions and longing, when the cogs in his head started turning again, he felt a warm hand on his cheek, wiping away wetness.

“Dean? Hey, Dean! You okay?” Sam asked, concern crinkling his eyebrows, “Are you freaking out already, man?”

“What? No! No, I'm good,” Dean said, easing out of Sam, slumping to the side and rubbing his eyes.

“Good,” Sam said, smiling. He turned to lie on his side and placed a hand on Dean's stomach. “So we're good?”

“Yeah... I think so, Sammy,” Dean replied, an almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “Just give me a moment to process, alright?”

So they just lay there for a few minutes, the silence neither awkward nor uncomfortable. Sam rested his head on his arm and just waited for Dean to say something, looking for signs of a freak-out. He himself felt good, exhausted in the best of ways. Looking at his brother's closed eyes, his relaxed mouth, he remembered the reverent look on Dean's face just minutes earlier and smiled contently. He'd always know that he loved his brother and had been aware of the protectiveness and adoration Dean had had for him from the day he was born. But there was more. He'd said it earlier and technically he'd known it all along – all they had was each other, there was no-one else, not anymore and if you broke it down, maybe it had always been this way. It had Sam wondering how he couldn't have seen this before, this exclusiveness they had shared for such a long time. They hadn't been physically exclusive, obviously, there even had been other people who they had loved. Jess, for him. Probably Cassie for Dean, even though he didn't know too much about her and their relationship, but in the end, all that had ever mattered to any one of them was their brother. It all always came down to Sam and Dean. Family doesn't end with blood and what they had doesn't end with family.

 

Dean lay there, listening to their breathing and thought back to all this had started. Not to how his feelings for Sam had become more than brotherly, but to that night and what had happened in the months after. And before. The weeks before that night things between them had become so quiet, comfortable, good and this had been what had had Dean pull away. They had done their thing – saving people, hunting things, you know the drill, without any tension between them. They had always been close, but they'd also always found reasons to fight. Tiny, unimportant things that came from spending all of their time in each other's back pockets. But aside from their usual bickering about Sam being a geek and Dean's diet consisting of beer, burgers, extra onions and pie they had gotten along so well that Dean had felt like, despite his keeping his distance to an almost normal, brotherly degree, they had become abnormally, unbrotherly close. So Dean had pulled away further and Sam, being the pain in the ass he was, had of course noticed and started poking and prodding until Dean had snapped and that night had occurred. Dean didn't remember all of what had happened after he had returned from the bar but apparently it had changed something for Sam and he had taken up being uncharacteristically stupid and trying to seduce his brother, very subtly of course. But Dean was a Winchester and very perceptive. And being a Winchester also brought with it an extraordinarily high level of stubbornness and self-restraint, especially when it came to keeping his little brother from doing something not very advisable. On the other hand, Sam was a Winchester himself and stubbornness does indeed go many ways, especially when it came to doing something for his big brother that he obviously wanted but wouldn't allow himself to have.

Anyway, being a Winchester only brings you that far, which had led them to this night and here Dean was, lying in bed after having fucked his kid brother – and not feeling particularly freaked. After all, Sam kind of had a point. They weren't gonna have deformed babies or anything, the were both consenting adults, so who were they gonna hurt with this apart from society's rules on morality? And what place did they have in society anyway? None at all. So fuck them. He and Sam were good and that's all that mattered.  
Dean turned on his side to face Sam and saw that he had fallen asleep, eyes closed, breathing soft and even. As quietly as he could, he got up to go to the bathroom and clean up. When he re-emerged with a damp towel, Sam had sat up in bed, reading something on his phone.

“Got a text from Sheriff Mills,” he said, “guess we're going to Sioux Falls.”

Dean held out the towel.

“Thanks, but I'm gonna have a quick shower. You pack up?” he said, flipping back the covers and getting up, apparently completely comfortable with their nakedness.

“Gonna be back in a second.” He passed Dean and slapped his ass before closing the door behind him.

“Bitch,” Dean muttered, shaking his head and smirking to himself.

“I heard that, jerk,” came a shout from behind him.  

 

 


End file.
